


How Much You Wanna Risk

by kaleidomusings



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Angst, Animals, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidomusings/pseuds/kaleidomusings
Summary: Dixon men aren’t known for their bleeding hearts.But against his better judgment, Daryl finds an injured dog on the side of the road and takes it to the only vet clinic he can find still open, where he meets Paul and everything he thought he knew changes.





	1. I want something just like this

**Author's Note:**

> There are mentions of animal abuse and neglect, as well as Daryl’s unfortunate childhood, so please proceed with caution.

Dixon men aren’t known for their bleeding hearts. 

So when Daryl is driving home late one night and notices a dark figure lying on the side of the road like garbage some asshole dumped, he drives right past it. Only the split second his headlights shine into its eyes -a piercing, almost unnatural yellow- has him slamming on the brakes and pulling over onto the road of the road before leaping out of his truck. 

Then he hears the growling. A deep rumbling that would’ve made a lesser man quake in his boots and turn tail to the safety of his car. But Daryl’s survived more than most and isn’t intimidated by a stray mutt dumb enough to wander so close to the busy highway. Except he realizes as he gets closer to the black shape that it’s not the little puppy he was imagining, but a huge monster of a dog. 

It snarls when Daryl crouches down beside it, curling back its lip and baring its sharp teeth, like it’d tear him to pieces if it just had the strength to move. Daryl scoffs at the threat and studies the animal carefully, taking note of what he can make out in the dark. Nearly as long as he is tall, the dog is curled on its side, back legs twisted at an odd angle and clearly broken. He should really just leave it or at least put the poor beast out of its misery, but in what little light there is, he can make out the look in its eyes that made him stop in the first place. 

It’s a look that says, as clear as day, _I’m not fucking done yet_. 

“Gotta get you onto my truck,” Daryl tells the dog, feeling dumb as he does it. “Bite me and I’ll leave you here for roadkill.”

It obviously doesn’t understand him, but seems to realize that he’s trying to help it, because other than a low whine of pain and growling as he lifts it into his arms, it stays surprisingly docile. He lays it as carefully as he can in to the bed of his truck and blinks as it gazes at him with its strange yellow eyes. 

“You’re heavy,” he complains at it before climbing into the driver’s seat and turning his truck back to town. 

There’s only one veterinary clinic Daryl knows of, and that’s only because it’s right across the street from the garage where he works. Fortunately, the lights are still on as he pulls up in front of it and a man in scrubs with a thick beard and hair tied up in a bun -looking like a goddamn hippie- appears when he starts pounding at the door. 

“Sorry, we’re closed,” the man calls through the glass apologetically, but Daryl snarls and pounds on the door harder. 

“This is a fucking emergency!”

The hippie studies him, like he’s trying to determine if Daryl is really telling the truth or if he’s a drunk trying to make trouble. Just when Daryl is about to give up and find another clinic, he unlocks the door and is already slipping on a pair of sterile gloves. “What’s the emergency?”

“Found it on the side of the road,” Daryl says and the dog starts growling again as they peer down at it. “Think it was hit by a car.”

“Looks like both her hind legs are broken,” the hippie agrees and Daryl glances at him, only to find him looking back at him. “Help me carry her inside.”

When the hippie reaches his hand out to the dog, Daryl is sure she’s going to take some fingers, but all she does is sigh and her long bristly tail lifts a little then flops back down once. Daryl stares, because he’s pretty sure she just wagged her tail at the other man and that’s just _unfair_. What is this guy, the hippie version of Dr. Doolittle?

Together, they lift the dog and carry her inside, laying her down gently in an exam room. In the better lighting, Daryl has a better view of the dog’s injuries and feels sick at what he finds. The dog’s ink black coat is heavily matted, with spots where clumps of hair had fallen out. She’s also so skinny that Daryl can count every one of her ribs and the pads of her feet are raw and bleeding. 

“ _Shit_.”

Dr. Doolittle must agree with him, because he looks furious as he checks her over, his gloved fingers probing gently at a scabbed area on her side. “What’s your name?” he asks suddenly. 

Daryl frowns, not understanding why it matters to the guy at all. “What?”

He must sense Daryl’s confusion, because he looks up and the serious expression on his face softens into a smile. “I’m Paul. Paul Rovia, but my friends call me Jesus. And you are?”

“Daryl.” Dr. Doolittle -no, _Paul_ , because no way in hell is he going to call him anything else- waits until he hesitantly adds, “Dixon.”

“Well, Daryl. It looks like with some food and antibiotics she’ll heal up in no time. I’ll have to run some x-rays, but from what I can tell her backlegs have closed fractures, which should heal in six weeks or so. For now, I’d like to keep her here under observation for the next few days at least.”

Daryl nods, relieved that the dog’s life isn’t in any real danger. “Good.” Then, before he can stop himself, “You usually here so late at night?”

Paul shrugs. “There’s always too much paperwork to get through during the day, so I have to finish it when I can. Speaking of, I need to fill out some forms for me.”

Daryl really can’t afford vet bills right now -he’s struggling with groceries as it is- but that’s what he gets for doing a good deed. He sighs and grabs the clipboard and pen Paul points out to him “Yeah. Okay.”

“Why don’t you fill those out in the waiting room? I’m just going to get this girl settled and I’ll meet you there.”

“Sure.” Daryl pauses before brushing his fingers against the dog’s velvety soft ears. “See ya.”

The dog huffs at him, but he gets one of her tail flops all the same. It makes him grin, until he notices Paul watching him with a strange look and leaves quickly. It doesn’t take long for him to fill out the paperwork, since what he knows about the dog is limited, but where it asks for her name he pauses, thinking. 

“She doesn’t have a microchip.” Paul’s voice right over his shoulder startles him and he jumps a little, glaring up at him for the way he’s trying not to laugh and failing. “So you can choose any name you like’”

“She ain’t mine and I got no intention of keeping her,” Daryl says as Paul stands in front of him. He starts to hand over the clipboard, but Paul stops him. 

“The lacerations on her feet were made by a knife,” Paul says, his words making Daryl freeze with mounting horror. He imagines how desperate she must have been to get away from the bastard who did that to her, running through the blood and pain until a car nearly ran her over. “By law, we’re required to allow a week or two for the owner to come forward before sending them to the shelter to be adopted or euthanized. Do you really want to send her back to where she came from or be locked up in a cage until her life ends abruptly?”

Daryl wants to throw the clipboard in the vet’s stupid, knowing face and curses himself for getting involved in the first place. “You’re an asshole.”

Paul pretends like he hadn’t heard him. “I’ll waive her treatment costs. Get her microchipped and up to date on her vaccines. And I can suggest some flea and heartworm medications to get her started on.”

Daryl thinks he really should’ve minded his own business and kept driving when he saw the dog lying in that ditch, but he remembers the fiercely defiant look in her eyes and knows when he’s lost. Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, the name for her comes to him and he prints it on the form in his messy scrawl. 

_Rebel._


	2. Falling back in love with being alive

Daryl’s elbow deep in engine grease the next day when the garage phone rings. He barely notices  Rosita pick it up, his attention on the socket wrench in his hand. It’s only when she calls out to him through the office’s open door that he looks up, irritated to have her distract him from his work. 

“ _What_?”

Rosita narrows her eyes at him, unimpressed. “Don’t give me that attitude, Dixon. You’ve got a call.”

He can’t think of anyone important enough to call him at work or that he’d care enough to answer for. Unless it’s an emergency of some kind, but Rosita would be more concerned if it was. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.”

“Tell them yourself,” Rosita says. 

“Get a cell phone while you’re at it,” Abraham adds from underneath the car he’s working on. “You’re so goddamn prehistoric it’s sickening.”

“Shut up,” Daryl snaps and kicks Abraham’s boot as he passes, although there’s no real strength behind it. Abraham responds by sticking his hand out and flipping Daryl off, forcing him to fight a laugh. All things considered, Daryl likes him. He wouldn’t be where he is now if it hadn’t been for Abraham knocking some sense into him after Merle died and keeping him from following in his brother’s footsteps. Thanks to Abraham, Daryl has a job he loves that actually makes him feel like he’s doing something worthwhile, when he could have ended up as a drunkard or worse. As soon as he steps into the office, Rosita hands him a rag to wipe his hands on and glares until he gives in and uses it before letting him anywhere near the phone. “Yeah?”

The voice on the other line is so unexpected that he almost chokes on air. “Hey, Daryl. It’s Paul. Sorry to call you at work, but this it the only number you wrote down as a contact.”

“Don’t have another phone,” Daryl says, because he’s never needed one. The people who matter to him know that if he’s not at home, he’s at work or at the bar next door. He rarely ever goes hunting anymore because that just reminds him of Merle and he needs to _not_ break down in tears while in front of Rosita and Abraham while he’s on the phone with a man he barely knows. “How’s she doing, Doc?”

Rosita raises a curious eyebrow at the question, but Daryl ignores her. 

“Rebel’s doing great. The x-rays show it’s a clean fracture like we thought. I’ve already molded the casts for her and she doesn’t seem to have any problems with the antibiotics I’ve prescribed for her. She’s also eating like a horse, which is a good sign. I think she’ll be up and running in no time.”

Daryl releases a sign of relief he didn’t realized he was holding. It hadn’t sit well with him when he left Rebel at the clinic last night, but Paul assured him he’d keep an eye on her progress and let him know if there was any changes. “Thanks, Doc. And listen, about the bill for all of this—“

“Nope,” Paul interrupts before he can finish, gently but clearly with no room for argument. “I told you I’d waive all of that. I’m serious, Daryl. You don’t owe me a penny.”

He can’t make sense of this guy at all. “But why?”

Even if Daryl can’t see him, he can hear the soft smile in Paul’s voice. “Because you could’ve left her out there, but you didn’t. You’re a good man, Daryl Dixon.”

Shit, he better not be blushing in front of Rosita. Although judging by the look on her face, Daryl must be as beet red as he feels. “Shut the hell up.”

“Definitely need to work on how you react to compliments though,” Paul says cheerfully. “Do you want to swing by after work and see Rebel?”

“Yeah, I’m off at seven.” Daryl pauses, wondering if he should’ve said a later time so he can shower and change into something that isn’t covered in grease, then hates himself for even thinking about it. It’s not a date or anything, for fuck’s sake. 

“See you at seven then,” Paul says and damn it, it totally sounds a date. 

Daryl hangs up quickly and glares at Rosita, who is grinning like the whole world’s just been handed to her on a silver platter. “Was that hot Jesus from across the street?”

He frowns in confusion, trying to make sense of the odd string of words that just came out of her mouth. “What?”

“It was,” she says with glee and snatches up her cell phone from her desk, even though Abraham has told her multiple times not to fuck around on Twitter during work hours. “I need to tell Tara.”

Daryl points a warning finger at her and says vehemently, “ _Do_ _not_ tell anyone anything.” Because if Tara knows, she’ll tell Glenn and Maggie and then it’ll spread to their other friends until Daryl will have no choice but to painfully _murder_ Rosita. 

She taps at the screen, heedless to his threat or just not caring. Most likely a mixture of both. “Sent!”

A moment later, Abraham’s cell phone goes off in the back of the garage, followed by shouting. “What the hell?! Why is Rick asking me about Daryl’s Jesus-impersonating veterinarian boyfriend?!”

Daryl buries his face in his hands. “God, I hate all of you.”

—

The pretty blonde at the front desk smiles up at him and Daryl shifts uneasily from foot to foot, feeling like she knows more about him in a glance than he’s comfortable with. “Mr. Dixon?”

He scoffs, because Mr. Dixon was his father and everyone unlucky enough to have known him knew he was a nasty son of a bitch. “Just Daryl’s fine.”

She nods, seeming to accept this readily enough. “Daryl then. Dr. Rovia is waiting for you, so you can come on back.”

“Thanks,” he mutters as he shuffles around the desk. 

Having spent all afternoon putting up with Abraham and Rosita’s merciless teasing, he shouldn’t be this nervous about seeing Paul again. But when he catches sight of the man in question -his long brown hair loose over his shoulders and making him look younger somehow- crouching in front of Rebel’s kennel and speaking to her softly, he feels awkward and unsure. He’s considering the option of leaving before he can make a fool of himself when Rebel perks up at the sight of him and Paul follows her gaze, smiling when he sees that it’s Daryl. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Daryl scratches the bridge of his nose, trying to hide the discomfort he feels at being on the receiving end of that bright smile. People just don’t look at him like that, as if the mere sight of him is enough to make them happy. He looks away and kneels down next to Paul, holding his hand out toward Rebel. “Hi, gorgeous.”

Honestly, he doesn’t expect her to acknowledge him at all, so he’s surprised when she leans forward and licks the tips of his finger with a long pink tongue. 

“She missed you,” Paul says and Daryl jumps a little when their shoulders press together, too deliberate to be an accident. Daryl turns with the intention of telling the guy to back the hell off, but the words get caught in his throat before he can. Because now that he’s looking a little closer, he’s forced to realize that Paul is devastatingly and unfairly good looking, with the most vivid shade of sea green eyes he’s ever seen. And when Paul leans closer, he curses himself for the way his heart speeds up and his lungs suddenly stop working properly. “Daryl—”

“I’m heading home now, Dr. Rovia,” the blonde from the front desk interrupts and whatever moment passed between them is broken. Daryl tries to convince himself that he’s not at all disappointed about it. 

Paul leans back and smiles at her, though it’s slightly strained at the edges. “Thank you, Beth. Have a good night.”

She smiles and leaves with a warm, “You too.” She even waves goodbye to Daryl, like they’re old friends and not complete strangers. It fills him with an odd sense of warmth he doesn’t dislike. 

“Seems like a good kid,” he says for lack of anything better. 

Paul nods, smiling a bit more genuine than a moment ago. “She is. Her father was my instructor in veterinary school.”

Didn’t Maggie mention something about her old man being a teacher at a vet school? Daryl can’t remember her ever mentioning a younger sister, but he thinks he could make out enough of a resemblance to identify them as sisters. “You mean Hershel Greene?”

The surprised but pleased look on Paul’s face make his insides squirm. “Yeah. You know him?”

Daryl reaches his hand out to Rebel and she rubs her face against it, watching him intently. “Know his oldest, Maggie. Her and her husband, Glenn.”

They were the ones who found him when Merle got his fool self killed, after he’d been on an all-night bender and got into so many fights they all started to blur together. He was covered in blood, drunk out of his mind, and mad with rage when they stumbled across him in that alley and they still helped him anyway. They nursed him back to health after refusing to let them take him to the hospital, got him back on his feet, and even convinced Abraham to hire him on at the garage. Then he met Rick and the others, gaining a new family after the loss of his own. Daryl knows that he owes Glenn and Maggie everything, and that he’ll never be able to pay them back for what they did for him. Not even if he spent the rest of his life trying to.  

He doesn’t know why he tells Paul any of it. Maybe to shock him or scare him off, but Paul surprises him by asking, “Want to come over to my place tonight?”

“What?” he asks, staring at him like an idiot. 

“I like you and want to get to know you better,” Paul says patiently. “And you don’t have a personal number I can call.”

Daryl can feel the heat rise into his face. “Look, Doc—”

“Jesus.”

“ _Paul_.” How is he losing control of this conversation so quickly? “I’m not— I’ve never—”

He trails off, at a loss on how to explain how out of depth he is. But maybe it shows on his face, because Paul takes pity on him. “Is it because I’m a man? Or are you inexperienced?”

The mortification of this entire conversation is so overwhelming that Daryl -wanting desperately to put an end to it or at least a hole to crawl into- blurts out, “Both.”

He expects Paul to be annoyed or disgusted with him, so it takes him aback when gentle fingers sweep Daryl’s bangs off his brow. “Let’s start slow then. Dinner tomorrow night? I can pick you up after work.”

Being asked out on a date by an attractive guy is so surreal that Daryl agrees before he can talk himself out of it. But Paul looks so pleased, it’s almost worth the freak out he’s going to have later. The hand in his hair trails down to his cheek and tilts his face to one side as Paul leans into his personal space. Daryl panics, torn between punching him in the face or running away like a coward. He settles on squeezing his eyes shut because an attractive guy wants to kiss him, when they’re interrupted by a loud and commanding bark. 

Rebel glares at them for being too focused on each other to give her the attention she deserves. Paul pulls away with an uneasy laugh and Daryl releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, trying not to read too deeply in how disappointed he feels. 

It’s not like he wanted Paul to kiss him or anything. Really. 


	3. Taking my time on my ride

Motorcycles are the only thing that Daryl can make sense of these days. 

As if to prove his point, Rick says very nonchalantly, “I heard you have a date tonight.”

Daryl chokes on his mouthful of coffee and coughs so hard that everyone in the diner turns to stare at him. “Who the hell from?!” he demands, once he gets his breath back. 

“I have my sources.”

Daryl eyes him suspiciously. “You mean Michonne,” he accuses and Rick shrugs, smile sheepish but unrepentant. 

With a sigh, Daryl hangs his head and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s desperately trying to not think about how red his face is right now as he thinks back to the night before, when Paul walked Daryl out to his truck and kissed him last night. Granted it was just a peck on the cheek, but he went home in a daze and may have driven through a red light or two. He almost thought it was a figment of his imagination, so for Rick to bring it up over coffee -on the rare occasion they both start work later in the day- drives home the fact that this is _real_. Paul actually asked him out on a date. “Did Carol tell her?”

“She heard it from Sasha, who heard it from Carol.”

_Fuck_. Daryl loves that woman, but he wants to strangle her sometimes. Because he called her last night after getting home from visiting Rebel and Paul, in a panic over complete lack of experience in dating. He trusted her not to say anything to anyone else and -while he understands she only did it to help him out- having to talk to Rick about it is downright mortifying. 

Rick must see it in his expression, because he gives him a reassuring smile. “Hey, you don’t have to overthink it. Just be yourself and have fun with this guy. And if he doesn’t like you, he’s a goddamn idiot.”

It’s comforting to know his friends have his back, but the real problem lies in what the hell Paul sees in him. He’s older, with no college education, a low paying job, and a rundown house in the woods. The only thing he has of value is his crossbow and his brother’s old bike, which he has locked up in the garage because it’s in so many pieces nothing short of a miracle will put it back together again. Daryl could easily do it if he had the time or the resources, but he doesn’t have either luxury. He’s like that old bike, damaged beyond any hope of repair and gathering dust. He has nothing to offer a successful young like Paul. 

A part of him wants to admit all of that to Rick, but the other part -the selfish side of himself that knows Paul will one day realize just how worthless Daryl is and break his heart- wants to hold onto this for as long as he can. So he takes Rick’s advice and goes to work, keeping his hands busy to avoid glancing at the clock and count down the minutes until he can meet Paul. By then Abraham and Rosita have been updated about Daryl’s date and keep teasing to the bare minimum. It’s their way of saying that they’re happy for him, so he doesn’t hold it against them. 

Abraham even lets him check out early, so he can hurry to the bathroom and scrub the dirt and grime from his face and hands. He runs his wet fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it, then gives up. Paul’s already seen him as the dirty grease monkey he is and there’s no reason to pretend otherwise. At least he remembered to bring an extra pair of clothes, which he throws on quickly. It’s only a dark blue shirt and black jeans, but neither have rips or stains, which makes them the nicest clothes he’s dressed in a very long time. He shoves his dirty clothes in a bag and walks out of the bathroom, only to freeze in place as three heads turn his way. 

Rosita and Abraham have matching Cheshire grins on their faces while Paul stands with them, dressed in a white button up and dark grey jeans with a leather jacket. He’s let his hair down again and Daryl can’t help admiring how the light catches off it, making it look amber gold. After a moment of staring, he notices the way Paul is admiring him right back much to his surprise, eyes lingering in a way that makes his face heat. 

“You’re early,” he says, not knowing if it’s true but saying it just for the sake of it. 

Paul laughs, sounding nervous and shy, which helps put Daryl at ease. Looks like he’s not the only one out of his depth. “I was just getting acquainted with your friends.”

Daryl turns to glare at his supposed friends and they smile innocently back. “That right?”

“We can be civil when we want to be,” Abraham says, disappearing into the office and obviously running away. 

“You boys have fun tonight,” Rosita adds and gives them both a hug. Then she whispers something in Paul’s ear that makes his cheeks turn pink. 

Daryl narrows his eyes as she pulls away, wishing she’d stop embarrassing him for once. She winks and blows them a kiss before following Abraham into the office. “I’m sorry about them.”

“Don’t be,” Paul says. The tinge of pink across the bridge of his nose makes him look ridiculously attractive and Daryl is probably staring at him like a freak. “I can tell they really care about you.”

“More like they can’t mind their own business.”

“I heard that, you shit!” Abraham hollers from the office, even if he’s no longer visible and he _shouldn’t be listening in on their conversation damn it_. 

“You were meant to hear it, you ginger-haired bag of dicks!” he shouts back, flipping him off for good measure. Even if Abraham can’t actually see it, it’s the principle of the matter. At Paul’s muffled snot of laughter, he drops  his arm and wonders if he should apologize. He’s worried Paul will find it immature or too vulgar, but his eyes are dancing with mirth as he meets his gaze. “What?”

Paul links his arm through his and steers him outside. “It just reminds of what a real family ought to be like.”

Daryl’s brow furrows. “Calling each other names?”

“No. _Real_.”

He blinks at the odd response and is opening his mouth to ask what Paul means, when he catches sight of the beauty parked in front of the garage. A black vintage BMW motorcycle -with sleek lines and gorgeous curves- looks otherworldly in the evening light and Daryl turns to Paul helplessly, who is grinning back at him. “How did you—”

“I heard you like motorcycles and a friend of mine owed me a favor, so I borrowed his.”

If Daryl was a braver man, he would have kissed Paul right then and there. Instead he circles the bike, running his hands all over it because he hasn’t seen a more stunning piece of work in a while. Paul hands him a helmet and the keys, but his protests are swiftly ignored. 

“Of the two of us, you’re the one who knows how to ride a motorcycle. You’re driving.”

Although itching to get on and take off, Daryl pauses long enough to help Paul put on his own helmet and check the straps. His heart is overflowing with so much gratitude, he thinks he might burst from it. He knocks their helmets together, because there aren’t words adequate enough to describe the gift Paul has given him and can only hope this simple gesture will suffice. “So where’re we headed?” he asks once he finds his voice. It’s deep and rough, scrapped raw with emotion. 

“I know a place not far from here, but figured you’d wanna take this baby for a spin first.”

The skin around Daryl’s mouth stretches strangely as he climbs on the bike and feels Paul slide on behind him, arms wrapping securely around his waist. It’s not until he starts the engine and tears down the open road that he realizes he’s overwhelmed with complete and utter happiness. He can’t even remember the last time he’s had a reason to. He lets one of his hands slide off the handlebar of its own accord and squeezes the fingers pressing against his stomach just before he merges onto the highway and speeds up with a deafening roar. 

After about thirty minutes of enjoying the freedom of being on a bike again, Paul nudges his shoulder and directs him to a little hole in the wall he would have never spared in a second glance. After getting a good laugh at the state of Paul’s hair after he pulls off his helmet and attempting to help him smooth it into order, they go inside and grab an empty booth. It’s a simply decorated place but comfortable, and their waitress -Denise- is polite and friendly. The food is also surprisingly good and their whiskey is even better. The entire experience puts him in such a good mood that he doesn’t bristle at the unabashed way Paul is staring at him like he usually would. In fact it makes him feel desirable and brave, which is the only reason he asks an amused, “What?”

“Nothing,” Paul replies too quickly. Daryl quirks a brow at him and he laughs, slightly breathless. “It’s just— I’ve never seen you smile like that before. Makes me wanna see you wear that look all the time.”

Daryl lowers his eyes and plays with the condensation of his glass, although still smiling like an idiot. He doesn’t think he’s stopped since he first felt the power of the motorbike between his thighs. No one’s ever told him they liked his smile before and maybe it shouldn’t please him so much, but it does. And with a belly full of food and pleasantly warmed by his drink, his gaze lingers longer than it should on Paul’s mouth. It’d be so easy to lean across the table and chase the taste of whiskey on his lips, but he takes too long thinking about it and Paul is already changing the subject. 

“Rebel’s taken to Beth singing to her,” he is saying. “She claims it puts the animals at ease—”

“How’d you know I’m into bikes?” Daryl interrupts before he can finish.

Paul’s face turns pink. “Well— I may have bribed Maggie into tell me.”

The fact he sought out Maggie’s help to know more about Daryl amuses him more than it probably should. “Bribed her with what?”

The blush on Paul’s face darkens. “She wants me to paint a mural for the baby’s nursery,” he finally admits after a long pause.

Of course he’s an artist. Is there anything this man can’t do? “Didn’t know you’ve met Maggie and Glenn before.”

“I may also owe Beth a favor or two for introducing her sister to me.”

Daryl’s actually a little relieved to hear it. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he found out that his friends knew someone like Paul existed in the world and never told Daryl about him. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference because he never would have done anything about it, so while everything Rebel’s been through still pisses him off, he’s kind of grateful for the chance to meet and get to know Paul like this. 

Because underneath the kind and compassionate veterinarian is a clever mind and a wicked sense of humor. Not only does Paul paint, he’s trained in martial arts and went to culinary school before focusing on saving animals. He even tells Daryl about growing up in a group home until he turned eighteen, after being shuffled around relatives and foster homes. But he doesn’t sound bitter about the experience, just a little wistful and sad. He tells Daryl that he still worries about the younger kids he lived with and still reaches out to them, inviting them out when he has a free day on the weekend so they can escape their situation for an afternoon. 

Daryl knows better than to ask how Paul’s parents died, but he tells him anyway. “My dad had cancer. But I was so young when he died that I don’t remember him much. Then when I was fourteen, Mom was hit by a drunk driver. She bled out before they could get her to the hospital.”

Before Daryl can talk himself out of it, he reaches across the table and grabs Paul’s hands in his own. There aren’t any words he can say that’ll make it better, so he doesn’t bother. He knows firsthand that no one ever really recovers from losing the ones they love. Still the withered thing he calls his heart flutters to life at the gentle smile on Paul’s face and the answering squeeze of his fingers. 

Face hot, Daryl quickly drops his hands and throws money down on the table to cover their meals despite Paul’s protests. “We should go.”

“I’m the one who asked you out. I should be paying.”

Daryl huffs a laugh, choosing to ignoring the little skip of his heart at Paul’s wording. “After everything you’ve done, it’s the least I can do.”

“Then I’m paying next time,” Paul says as they walk outside to the bike and slip their helmets back on. He sounds strangely insistent, but all Daryl can focus on is the fact Paul wants to go out with him again. The thought sends a thrill down his spine as Paul climbs on behind him, pressing closely against his back to wrap his arms around his waist. 

Suddenly hyperaware of the press of Paul’s body against him and his body heat, Daryl has half a moment to worry he’s too distracted to get them back in one piece. But fortunately they pull up to the clinic without incident and Daryl remorsefully steps away from the motorcycle, although he wants nothing more than to keep it for himself. He may want to keep Paul for himself too, but that’s just him being a possessive bastard and he should know better. 

“Thanks for tonight,” he says, stepping away to keep Paul out of his reach. Otherwise he’s going to do something he’s going to regret later. “That was really… nice.”

Nice doesn’t seem to adequate enough, but he’s never been good at expressing himself with words. It makes him feel a little better that Paul looks immensely pleased regardless. Like he knows what Daryl is really trying to say. “I’m glad. I had an awesome time with you too.”

Daryl ducks his head in embarrassment as Paul offers to have him wait inside the clinic to say hello to Rebel while Paul’s friends -Aaron and Eric- stop by to pick up the bike, but he declines. As much as he wants to see Rebel and meet the owners of such a beautiful piece of work, he’s not prepared for what may happen after. If Paul invites him over to his place, there’s no doubt it’ll escalate to more and he’ll see just how ugly and inexperienced Daryl really is. He makes some lame excuse about having  an early start in the morning, which Paul is kind enough to not call him out on. 

“You can see Rebel tomorrow,” Paul suggest instead, and if he’s disappointed he hides it well.

He nods, so ashamed he can’t even look up at him and flinches when a hand brushes his hair from his burning face. Meeting Paul’s eyes is a struggle, but there’s no judgment in them when he finally manages it. 

“Daryl, listen to me. I don’t want anything you’re not willing to give, okay? We can take our time.” Daryl nods and mourns the loss when Paul takes a step back. “Goodnight then. Drive home safe.”

“Night,” he manages and watches Paul until he disappears inside the clinic. He does get a little wave as Paul locks the door behind him before Daryl turns away and hurries to his truck. He drives to the outskirts of town, to his little shack in the woods. He slams the door behind him and strips out of his clothes, tossing them carelessly to the floor. He stumbles into the bathroom and stares at his reflection in the dirty mirror, his entire body covered in ugly scars, although the worst ones are on his back. It makes him think of the broken remains of Merle’s bike and how’d it look propped up beside the gorgeous motorcycle he rode tonight, then laughs bitterly. 

They don’t belong together and he never should have expected otherwise. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Just Like This by The Chainsmokers and Coldplay. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and please leave comments and kudos!


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